Half a Person
by writerfan2013
Summary: Five meets Dolores. A oneshot that I started writing on a whim and then wondered how on earth you would actually tell your imaginary, or is she, friend that you love them. Where to start? Short but as always, involves awkwardness and true love. PS regular readers of mine - yes, obviously Five would be my favourite. I am utterly predictable. Let me know how you like Five/Dolores.


His name was Five, but I always called him MyFive, all one word, just like that. I gave him other names too, nicknames, the silly names lovers give each other. "Stop that," he'd say, frowning, but he smiled, too, and I knew he liked it. He'd never given himself a name, only his number, and I think he was glad that I went right ahead and named him without even asking.

He was the kind of boy who likes a girl with her own mind.

He found me half dead under a mountain of dusty dresses and ceiling tiles. I had no use for a dress, but when he pulled me free he grabbed a blouse too, flung it over me. I liked that. Appreciated it. Most boys wouldn't have bothered, but MyFive had a nicety about him, a delicacy.

I ought to say how he seemed, that first time. Like this: hair black as mourning, sky-blue eyes, careful hands. He had a little crackle of electricity around the edges, his habitual irritation with the world, and something else, some lightning-power that it would take me a while to know.

He was grieving, that much was obvious. Well, weren't we all. I lost everyone I knew. So did he, so did you. But his grief was sharp like a sword, like he blamed himself. That made him interesting to me. Most boys don't hold themselves responsible for the dirt under their fingernails, never mind the end of the world.

Things were a little awkward at first. He didn't talk much, and I've always been shy around new people. Not one to start the conversation. I let others take that step. I guess he sensed that, because after a few miles, he walking, me riding the handcart, he said, "Well, if we're going to travel together, I guess we'd better know a little about each other."

And he told me what happened, his family, the time travelling. His power.

He cried some tears and never wiped them off, just let them trail through the dust on his cheeks. I would have reached out right away to comfort him - I already knew, even that first day - but I held back. He was surprised, I think. I hadn't once interrupted him. He shook his head at nothing, and said "So, that's me. How about you? I don't even know your name."

I hesitated, but when it's the end of the world, why not? I needed a friend, and he looked like being it, and friends know each other's names.

"Glad to know you, Dolores."

He waited for me to share my own history, little as it was. I thought about it, decided it was a bad idea. There would be time for that, and MyFive needed to recover. He was slight, and hungry, and physically exhausted. Me, I'm made of tougher stuff.

We grew closer as days passed, and became weeks with not another soul left on this earth. Five scavenged for food, and made shelter for us. "I know you don't feel the cold," he said. "I guess you're impervious to most things. All the same it seems wrong to leave you outside. It might rain."

So he tucked me in beside him. A tent it was, those early months. No walls, no locked doors. Who was going to rob us, and of what? All we had was each other's company.

We leaned back against a crate of canned foods, and Five slung his arm around me. Then he withdrew it, looking pained. "Sorry. I mean is that ok? I know you're not a doll. Not that I would play with dolls anyway. My sisters didn't even play with dolls. None of us had a lot of time for play..."

His words faded away, but I knew what he was thinking about: his freakish family. I wasn't glad they were dead, but I had no urge to meet them. Raising children as experiments. What kind of life is that? Might as well put a person on a stand, dress them up, see what they do. Huh.

"Anyhoo," Five said, "I don't want you to think I'm ... I like talking to you, is all. I need someone to talk to."

Fine with me. I'm not much for encouragement of the male of the species - it's not like they need it - but maybe I gave enough of a hint. At any rate he said, "What the hell," and slipped his arm back around me. Waited a moment to see if I objected - I didn't- then got me snug against his side and settled back against the crate. "Maybe I'm going insane," he said, "but this actually just feels right."

It did feel right. His arm was thin but it was warm and real and the only comfort left in the world. I stayed there, cosy against him, all night. He slept, and for the first time since we met, I felt him relax. His head lolled on my shoulder. He was so young and yet he had said goodbye to childhood. He'd lost everything that had made him, him. He was, for the moment, half a person.

Just like me.

The first time he kissed me I wasn't even expecting it, wasn't even ready. Months, years had gone by on the road that Five followed. He went, and I went with him. We did everything together.

All sound had fled the world. That's how it felt. No birds, no grass, no trees. The rivers were gone and the oceans had shrivelled, far out from the ledge of the land. The only sounds were the wind, the clatter and creak of concrete giving way amongst the ruins, and Five's voice.

With every brick and block broken all around us, his voice was the purest thing. I could listen all day. He flitted from topic to topic, restlessly seeking answers, like the echo of a half-tuned radio.

The tent sharing and shoulder resting had gone on for a while. In public, on the open road, Five was as fierce and as focused as ever, scraping out survival from a world turned to dust. He fought, he hunted for knowledge, he burned with ideas to travel back in time and prevent the apocalypse.

In the privacy of our makeshift home, he loosened up a little. He would sometimes bring me a new outfit, found on our travels, and hand it over awkwardly, like it was nothing, like he hadn't dug around in some half buried fashion store to find my size.

Other times he'd say, "Got a little something there, Dolores," and wipe my face with a cool damp cloth.

I didn't complain.

So we'd grown close, closer than siblings, not that that was a challenge in his case, and I liked him a lot. It's not like I had a ton of experience with love, but I knew damn well most men treat you like an object, and Five, MyFive, he didn't. He treated me like a person, a whole person.

He sought my opinion on every topic, even things I couldn't possible know about, like particle physics, or what Five's crazy father would do in this situation.

I hope I kept up my end of the conversation. I did what I could. He never seemed bored.

Still, I wasn't expecting him that evening, to fold the blanket over our midriffs, say, "Well, goodnight," and kiss me on the cheek.

I stayed absolutely still. I mean, this was a whole new level.

'Uh," he said, "sorry, that was weird."

His lips were warm, and although I hadn't had the chance to kiss him back, I knew I wanted to.

"Too weird," he repeated. "You deserve better, Dolores. Forgive me."

He turned away from then and slept, or pretended to, with his face hidden.

The thing is, it wasn't weird. I'd known for ages that I liked him. I just never knew he liked me too.

Next day he didn't talk much, which wasn't like him at all. After hours at work on his theories, he made dinner (hotdog and beans; it had become Our meal) and after eating, he blurted out, "Listen, living the way we do, intimately, we can't afford any awkwardness between us. So I'm just going to say it."

He leaned toward me, his eyes bright. "I have feelings for you. I know it's a little strange, but then maybe it's not so strange. We've spent all this time together. There was bound to be an attachment. I don't know why it took me by surprise, but it did. And I'm not sorry."

He paused and glanced at me defiantly from under his sweep of dark hair.

It was almost hilarious, because of course I'd been keeping quiet about my feelings for him for months. I didn't laugh though, and just as well, because he turned tender, and touched my cheek, and said simply, "Dolores."

It was so little, and yet in a world of emptiness and loss, it was so much. It made us whole.

I think I just smiled. MyFive.


End file.
